He Wrote: Don't Forget
by namewithheld
Summary: Sequel to Covering Up The Truth And Other Things: Adam writes something under a drawing of her that confuses Joan


Title: He Wrote: Don't Forget

Author: Tote

Genre: romance, some minor attempts at angst

Rating: very PG.

A/N: I'm not entirely happy with this. It still feels weirdly unresolved and I'm not sure my real point came across, but let me know what you think. The song in this one is called The Blower's Daughter by Damien Rice, who is an acquired taste and maybe not something Pink-loving Joan would normally listen to, but it had to be in there somewhere, so sue me and I needed the earphones as a prop. R&R please and thanks for all the reviews so far, for other stories, especially Unchallenged: your kind words made my day.

I look at the face in the mirror, kind of surprised that you can't see my pain pouring out of me. I covered the dark shadows beneath my eyes with make-up, put gloss on lips I kissed him with last night, brushed a little pink blush along my pale cheekbones and there it is: I look ordinary. I pretend not to notice my shaking hands when I lift up my heavy bag and swing it over my shoulder and I pretend not to think of Adam shaking after I kissed him, or Adam standing over me…

Faster than you can say denial, I stop thinking about it, or about Adam at all. As much as I ever don't think about Adam. With a final, deep steadying breath, I leave the safety of my mess of a room and trudge downstairs.

The kitchen is empty for once—Kevin left early for work, Luke always leaves early to make sure he's on time and Mom and Dad are out of town, visiting three-times-removed Girardi's or whatever.

So there's no need to take a banana, swearing I'll eat it on the way: instead I swallow a cup of coffee with too much cream and sugar, hoping it'll up my energy and make me seem less corpse-like today. Hey, it worked for Luke in the Geek contest.

I go to the door, grab the handle…and hesitate when an evil little thought occurs to me. I could always just take a sick day. Who would find out? Mom was gone, Luke and I didn't have any classes together today—an image of Iris tugging at the edge of Adam's sleeve comes to mind—and best of all, I could prolong the agony a little…you know, perfect the art of masochism. It's what I do best, right?

A violent feeling of carelessness comes over me and annoyed, I tell myself I might as well skip: if I'm going to be the type of girl to cheat with someone else's boyfriend then I'm probably also the type of girl that cuts class all the time. I should probably paint my toenails red and pierce my nose to top it off.

I could wait to see Adam's apologizing eyes till tomorrow. Or worse, his tortured look: if he's hurting like I'm hurting, I don't know if I can stand to see it today without crying in Chemistry.

Then, as I turn my back on the door, there's a knock. I don't know why, but hope sends my heart flying up my throat: I can't breathe. It's him, it's Adam, I just know it is and he reconsidered, he talked to Iris, he'll give me a chance. I pause, try to catch my breath and run back to the door, almost ripping it off it's' hinges when I slam it open.

"Oh."

"Gee, Joan, contain your enthusiasm," Iris says coolly and, her mouth twitching, she shoves a wad of crumpled papers into my arms. I look down at the first one on the pile but I already know what to expect.

It's one of Adam's sketches, torn from the notebook, but it's one I haven't seen. I seem to be leaning slightly forward in it, a single tear is captured falling halfway down my cheek but even though I'm not smiling, my eyes seem to radiate with joy: they dominate my face and the page, they scream my feelings.

Written beneath it, in Adam's simple yet beautiful print, it says: DON'T FORGET.

"Don't forget?" I repeat aloud, my eyebrows knitting together in confusion. Then I remember Iris and look up into her angry, pained face. "Look, Iris."

"No," she interjects hysterically, "you look: stay away from my boyfriend, Joan!"

"Look," I continue slowly, as if she didn't speak: "this is from last night. I tried to…I kissed him." She opens her mouth and I raise my hand to make her shut up: "He told me he was with you. He left."

Iris' mouth was still open. She closed it slowly and crossed her arms, frowning in thought. "He said that?"

"Contain your enthusiasm, Iris," I tell her coldly and push past her. I walk off the porch and I reach the sidewalk. Realizing something, I turn and looking at her face, I've never, ever been so angry or so full of sorrow: "So you see, he's making sure he won't forget."

I walk, unseeing, down the hall. The second bell went ten minutes ago but I don't care. I don't care about anything. When I get to chemistry, I knock and it reminds me again of Iris and of the sketch of me, but mostly of those words. Don't forget.

"Late again, Miss Girardi?"

I hear it but I don't hear it. I feel the class' attention focused on me, I know I'm supposed to make some excuse, but this weight is pressing down on my chest and I really don't feel like justifying myself to some jerk teacher who tap-dances while explaining about enzymes. "Yeah, I am," I say eventually as I slip past the desks to the back of the room, where I pretend I don't see Adam.

"It's somewhat of a tradition to pretend you have an excuse for tardiness," Lishek practically spits.

I sit down beside him, I feel him watching me.

"No excuse," I say simply.

"Well, honesty is a virtue, I suppose. But it's not going to cut it today. What do you propose I do with you?"

I remember doing what he drew; I remember what I felt in that second. I was so sure he'd choose me. I'd never forget that, if only for… I realize she's actually waiting for my response. I vaguely notice Luke raising his eyebrows at me from behind her, questioning me sarcastically.

I shrug. "I don't know… detention?" When she just looks at me, obviously suspicious, I add angrily: "Look, I was late, ok? I don't think its grounds for capital punishment."

"No," Lishek says dryly, "Maybe just a trip to the vice-principal's office after class."

The lesson continues. Grace makes a silent communication to Luke, as if to say: what's up with her?

I look at Adam and feel a rush of emotion I can't really identify.

He's sketching.

Price's door slams behind me. Detention: what else is new? I loop my hair behind my ears and stick earphones in them, thinking maybe I'll just drown out the mental tug-o-war. But the first song on the C.D. isn't loud. Damien Rice's warm, Irish voice murmurs in my ear.

_And so it is._

_Just like you said it would be._

_Life goes easy on me._

_Most of the time…_

I rub my eyes in frustration. I won't cry, I can't cry again. I won't give Baby Voice the satisfaction. Through the soft music, I hear a voice I recognize. "Jane?'"

_The shorter story…_

_No love, no glory_

_No hero in her sky._

I turn away from the sound of his voice and begin walking in the opposite direction, pretending I can't hear him with my headphones on.

_I can't take my eyes off of you…_

_I can't take my eyes off of you…_

_I can't take my eyes off of you…_

"Jane!" His voice is more urgent, more tinged with that quiet little sadness and I don't want to hear it, I don't want to feel guilty if she won anyway. If she gets Adam, I get to be guilt-free.

I turn up the volume and walk faster.

_I can't take my eyes off of you…_

_I can't take my eyes off of you…_

_I can't take my eyes…_

_And so it is._

"Jane…" He's close behind me.

He sounds so full of sorrow; his voice is like his drawing: it's so thick with meaning it makes your chest ache. Everything I feel is somewhere in that word, Jane. I stop walking and I wrap my arms around myself, as if to ward off the pain I know is coming. "Yeah?"

_Just like you said it should be:_

_We'll both forget the breeze_

_Most of the time._

_And so it is…_

_The colder water_

_The blower's daughter_

_The pupil in denial_

I'm startled when I feel his hands at either side of my face. Gently he pulls the earphones out. I lean into him and I feel him lean back into me. I feel him kiss the back of my head.

"Jane…turn around."

I do as I'm told, smiling at him even as my eyes threaten to tear up. He breathes in deeply, his eyes seeming to see past my eyes, looking deep into me, where my soul must be. He shakes his head slightly and smiles. "Iris talked to me."

I lower my head in shame.

Gently, he cups the left side of my face with his hand and brings my gaze back, irresistibly, to that face. "Adam…" I whisper. Adam, don't make me feel so much if you're just going to tell me it's Iris you're still with.

"We both knew she didn't deserve," he frowns slightly, self-depreciatingly, "to be with someone who wasn't really…with her."

"You're not with her anymore?" I ask, hope nearly tangible in the air.

"Jane, I've always been with you," he whispers.

I lean forward, eyeing his lips, then looking back up into his eyes and seeing them so full of devotion, it floors me. My mouth opens slightly in wonder and he closes the space between us, kissing me.

My soul lifts.

"Adam," I murmur as we break apart, "What did you mean: 'don't forget'?"

He laughs softly, almost in embarrassment. "I never thought you'd feel as much about me as I feel for you. I never wanted to forget you looking at me like…" he paused, thinking before he chose his words, "like you felt it too."

End

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